Oneshots of Twins and Father
by Sermione
Summary: Series of oneshots on Luke, Leia, and Vader(Anakin)'s relationship. Family stuff! *Chapter 4: Vader hated sand. Not only because it was course, rough, irritating and it got everywhere, but also because it was from Tarooine. So when Luke starts to sing blue milk all over the day, Vader is determined to give him an alternative drink. But the thing was.../Dad!Vader
1. The Coincidence

**The Coincidence**

* * *

Daya stared outside the window. Outside the pub, it was such a day. Coruscant was never a brilliant planet for her, except the ancient temple in the center of its surface. Still, today was the worst.

Daya sighed as the enormous thunder hollered. It should be relieving to be able to avoid the heavy raining, but the pub was no better than outside. It wasn't that it rained in the pub too; it's just that she didn't like the place. She did went inside the pub before—at least more than a dozen of times—but this one _must_ be the worst pub ever. It was so crowded of people who came to avoid the raining like her, and Daya couldn't even sit on a chair well. It seemed she wasn't the only one who was irritated, since there were grumbling sounds everywhere.

Daya shifted her pose slightly to see the holoscreen at the front of the counter. She could barely see it, but it was better than doing nothing but just waiting for the rain to stop. It didn't look like it was going to stop soon, anyway.

The reporter was talking something about a prince. He was the son of the emperor, and he never showed up in the formal event, for now. He was a mysterious figure for the people therefore. It didn't interest Daya much. She was just a street girl, and she didn't care about those loyalties. She gave up watching the news and glanced at the window. The raining hadn't stopped yet, but she was starting to get more and more frustrated at the pub. Daya carefully stood up and walked through the people, but stopped when she heard some words from the entrance.

"Hey! You stomped on my foot, kid! Watch yourself!"

This interested Daya. She struggled to see the 'kid' the shouter said. At the entrance there was a boy, soaked with rain completely. Although he was wearing expensive looking silk shirts, he looked no better than Daya because of that.

Daya raised her eyebrows as the boy said,

"The one who should watch himself is _you,_ Mandalorian."

The man immediately went red and barked. "You'd better get off my sight if you don't want to die, you _kriffing_—"

But Daya stumbled on someone's foot and wasn't able to hear the rest.

She hit on the floor hard, and when she finally stood up with trembling legs, she fell to the floor again, her cheek swelling—

"You dare bump me, a mere girl, a beggar!"

Daya chewed her lip slightly. She tried not to tremble and said.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"You didn't _mean to_?"

The man held his hand, and Daya cringed, in her best to reduce pain. However, the blow never came. She opened her eyes a little bit and closed them again. Seeing dead person was never easy no matter how she experienced. After a few moments she eventually got up and figured out what happened. She was shocked to see her rescuer.

The boy holding a red humming laser sword was right in front of her. His blond hair was a bit messy, but exclude that, then he was as same as before. Daya stammered as she evaded his blue eyes.

"Th-thank you."

There was a small whip sound as the boy deactivated the weapon. The boy seemed somewhat frustrated, and Daya couldn't guess why.

"I didn't kill him to earn your thank you, girl. Do you know the nearest port which has a lot of illegal ships?"

Daya blinked. "What?"

The boy sighed, clearly irritated. "You will tell me the location of the nearest port with lots of illegal ships."

Daya frowned and said,

"Well I don't—wait, but why?"

The boy looked confused at her response at first, then it came to a surprised murmuring.

"Why would she…does it mean…?"

It made Daya more flustered. Moreover, she couldn't bare the glances of people staring at them intently, and she took the boy's hand.

"I don't know what you're saying or asking, but we'd better get out of here."

The boy protested, but realizing the people looking them, he obediently followed Daya, to the outside of the pub.

* * *

"_Who_ are you?"

The boy asked, right after they stopped at the corner of the alley. He said like it was a pure mystery, and Daya had to wonder if being a street girl was a big deal.

"I'm just a street girl. As you see." She shrugged and asked back.

"Who are you then?"

The boy didn't answer to her question but asked again.

"Do not lie. You couldn't just be a mere street girl. What's your name?"

Ignored question was not offending to Daya. Actually, she could almost guess who the boy was. Assuming by his way of speaking and silk shirts, he must be a rich boy who has his parents on high ranks. Daya was rather considering whether to tell the boy her name. The name Daya was given by herself, and she knew that all names are given by others. It can't be her real name, isn't it? Nevertheless, she wasn't so sure. Maybe her family—if she actually had a family, that is—didn't name her and left her. That thought made her sad.

"My name's Daya."

The boy accused. "Just Daya? No second name? Just that?"

Daya nodded. "Well, I gave myself the name. I don't know my real name…but there's a vague memory."

"What's that?"

Daya hesitated. She never said it to anyone. In fact, today was the longest conversation she ever had with others.

"It's just…someone calling my name. I think it was my name. It feels like. I think it was my mom saying the name. She said, 'Leia.'"

Daya really liked the sound of the name. She had considered that to be her name before, but _Leia_ sounded like a name of a princess or someone very noble. It didn't fit to a street girl.

"Leia…"

The boy murmured. He looked like he was actually feeling the name. To touch, to sense…

In a brief second, Daya felt like she had known the boy for a long time. She knew she didn't, but it felt right. It was such a relieving feeling, to feel like she's deeply connected to another person.

"I am Luke."

The boy suddenly blurted, making Daya to open her eyes widely. The boy was looking at her directly, his pure blue eyes bright—

Daya shook her head and breathed. She was getting crazy. She never talked with others this long.

"Oh, right. You said you're looking for a port, right? I don't know the port with many illegal ships, but I know a lot of ports. I can take you to the nearest one."

Luke nodded. His attitude toward her was somewhat politer, and it was definitely better.

* * *

"Do you have parents?" asked Luke as he walked next to her.

"I'm an orphan." Daya replied, maybe more than a little bit sharply. Luke twitched but didn't say anything about that, though.

"I see…then do you—"

Luke stopped and frowned. He turned to Daya urgently and hissed.

"We need to go fast. We should run…no, it's not enough…"

Luke shook his head hopelessly. He groaned and sat back.

Daya was about to ask Luke what's wrong, but it was buried by the loud engine sound. When she found the source of the sound, she was struck with shock.

It was a lamda shuttle, stormtroopers and red-armored soldiers aboard in it. However, they weren't the one that froze her.

The emperor, the real emperor, emperor of the galactic empire, walked down to the ground and approached. Daya glanced at Luke. He was stiffened as well, but not surprised. Daya didn't have time to think why before Luke said,

"Father."

The emperor turned to Luke.

"My son, I believe it wasn't a very wise decision to sneak out secretly."

Daya stared at them, trying to organize the situation. Now to see, it wasn't that hard to spot the resemblances between Luke and the emperor. They both had blond hair, blue eyes, and smooth face. Daya wondered why she hadn't figured out that before.

"I think that it isn't the right time to talk about your attempt to run away, Luke. We have the more important matter now."

With that words the emperor turned to Daya and smiled at her. All Daya could do is just looking at him.

Emperor reached his hand to her hand and grabbed it softly. It was warm; Daya could almost smile back at him.

"Leia."

Daya raised her head to see the emperor directly, surprised at his word.

"But-but that isn't my name—"

The emperor squeezed her hand as if she was a precious treasure. Daya…didn't want him to stop that.

"My wonderful daughter."

Daya, somehow, was not astonished. It was not surprising. She had always known. She just didn't think about it. It was always like that. It felt right…she didn't know why, or how.

She opened her mouth slowly, saying the most beautiful word in the galaxy, the word which she never thought she would say someday.

Leia said,

"Father."


	2. A Firm Grip

**A Firm Grip**

* * *

A/N: This is a RoJ alternative oneshot. Please feel free to leave critical comments.

* * *

"I've been waiting for you, my son. So has the emperor."

Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker faced each other, both with determined goals in mind. They were alone, surrounded by enormous trees which covered the whole moon of Endor.

Luke Skywalker, now in plain black suit that somehow resembled his father's style, clenched his fists. His blue eyes darted toward Vader's mask, to his face behind it.

"I am _not_ your son."

Darth Vader tilted his mask for a while, as if he was thinking.

"So you haven't accepted the truth."

Vader almost sounded disappointed. Luke shook his head.

"I have accepted that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father. You, Darth Vader, are not my father."

Vader didn't seem to notice the moment of hesitation Luke had, which he thanked the Force for. The side effect was that Vader's patience was getting to the point.

"Then why are you here, if you deny the truth?"

Luke's right hand—the mechanical one which Vader cut off a year ago—reached to his lightsaber. He unhooked it from the belt and ignited the blade. The green blade of a Jedi knight came into life with a humming sound.

"I am here to end it all."

Vader hissed, his hand also grabbing the lightsaber but not activating it yet.

"Don't make me fight you, Luke. You are a fool to do this."

Luke glanced at Vader, still holding his green lightsaber firmly.

"Why is that?"

"You cannot defeat the emperor on your own. Together we can overthrow him."

Luke didn't flinch. His expression was grim. If there was one thing obvious, it was that team-upping with Vader to kill the emperor was not a good choice.

"He is on the Death Star. It will blow up soon."

Luke's face went pale as Vader said,

"It is a trap. Death Star II is operative."

Luke clenched his lightsaber even stronger. His eyes darkened, and he charged.

When Luke's blade was about to strike Vader, a crimson blade of a Sith blocked it. The Jedi knight and the Sith—father and son—confronted each other's weapon, beginning a duel.

"Fear and anger. They are strong in you. Perhaps turning you to the dark side will not be as hard as I had thought," Vader said, blocking Luke's blade.

Luke didn't put a stop to it. He pushed Vader further more.

"If I can save my friends, restore the freedom and Republic to the galaxy. If that means the empire will be gone…so be it."

Vader was startled at his words, and by mistake, he didn't defend Luke's blow to his arm. Vader's right arm was chopped off, along with his lightsaber.

Luke aimed his lightsaber to Vader, dropped down on the ground and defenseless.

For a second, nothing but except Vader's breathing sound and Luke's own was heard.

Luke stared at Vader's face. Or rather, his mask. He had a feeling that Vader was staring in his eyes, too.

Luke tried to not express any emotions on his face. He tried harder to recall Leia and Han. Both tortured by Vader. Leia was even his daughter, no matter Vader didn't know it. Chewie's planet was devastated by the empire. The empire also killed his family. Luke's family was not the exception. He had witnessed the empire and Vader's deeds for the past three years.

So why couldn't he just swing his arm and…

Vader spoke, making him drift out of his thoughts.

"Why did you come face me? If you didn't come, I would still be on the Death Star. Considering you believed your rebellion would blow it up, not coming here would have been a smarter choice. A simpler one."

Luke remained silent, his right hand holding the weapon stable, but the other one, visibly shaking.

"Why, Luke?"

Vader asked again, and this time, Luke opened his mouth.

"Because…" Luke couldn't hear his own voice. He felt like someone else was speaking.

"Because I wanted to see you."

The words of truth got out. The truth he'd always known but hadn't admitted. That he couldn't admit.

"I wanted to see you," Luke repeated, opening up his emotions through the Force, to Vader.

"I wanted to know my father, if just a little bit. Even if my father is you…Even if you killed so many including my close ones."

Luke hoped he could remain calm, but he couldn't help his right hand also start to shake violently.

"Even some minutes ago, I had thought there was no good left in you. That you can't be Anakin Skywalker again. And I had decided to fight you—I had to. To free the galaxy."

Luke deactivated the lightsaber and dropped it. His pure blue eyes went red.

"And yet you are not striking," Vader noted.

Luke glanced at Vader, not realizing the tear flowing down his cheek. He shook his head slowly.

"Don't you get it? I am not killing my own father. I had thought you can't be saved. I was wrong."

Luke moved on, now looking at his Vader eagerly, hope in his eyes.

"There is still some light in you. You can be turned. And that's why you are not willing to fight me; kill me. I discovered it just now. You may be dark. You may hate me. But you also love me, father."

Vader didn't deny, nor did he affirm.

Luke stretched his hand to him, who was still on the ground. The gesture reminded him of his father's on the Cloud City. Where he told him to join him. Luke had refused. He wondered his father will do the same.

"Join me, father. And together we can free the galaxy as father and son. It is…not your destiny, but a choice."

Luke made a smile. He knew he could never be that boy who admired and longed his father anymore. Nevertheless, this was the first time he actually appreciated that he had a father since he found out the truth. Vader was his father; he couldn't change that fact. But he could change Vader.

Luke's eyes met Vader's. Again, he didn't see his eyes, he just knew it somehow.

His smile grew wider.

"I love you."

He said, blurting but meaning every word, and Vader took his hand.

Gripping firmly.


	3. The Shopping

**The Shopping**

* * *

Summary: The Skywalker family goes shopping for a cooking droid! What they find is a strange one: Darth Vader? (Luke and Leia are 19, Padme is 46, and Anakin is 42.)

* * *

It was early in the morning when Padme spoke up the need of a cooking droid.

"We definitely need it," declared Padme.

Anakin, who was tinkering on Artoo, turned to her.

"Why? We have Threepio to cook."

Anakin had his pride of creating the protocol droid. He added,

"He's not a bad cook."

"That is quite correct, Master Ani. Though, I must say, I am a protocol droid fluent in over six million forms of communication—"

Padme gave Anakin a look as Threepio began to talk. Really, Anakin couldn't blame her. It was distressing to bear the droid's chats all day.

"I can speak Jawaese, Huttese, and—"

Anakin shrugged and cleared his throat.

"I know that, Threepio, I made you."

He cut in, finally making him shut up.

All the four family members in the room fixed their eyes on Padme again. She nodded and continued.

"What I meant to say was—Threepio is quite right. He may be able to cook, but it is not his first job. He is a protocol droid after all. Besides, I know he is not a terrible cook, but we certainly can have better meals."

"Mom has a point," Leia joined in, adapting the senator figure inherited from her mother.

"It'd probably be better if we have our own cooking droid—she glanced at Anakin—Right, Dad?"

Leia sent words through the Force in a threatening way, like,

_If you don't agree, I will tell Mom about that ship you bought without any permissi—_

Anakin sighed.

"Fine."

Luke, who was just listening to the arguments until now, spoke with somehow excited voice.

"Great. Then I'll go power up the engines and—"

Anakin held his hand up, stopping Luke.

"Uh-oh, no, son, _I'_m flying."

Luke's arms went limp. He groaned.

"Please, Dad, you _always_ fly! Give me the opportunity."

Leia sided with Luke.

"Yeah. Luke must have been waiting this chance the whole time we were talking."

Anakin couldn't resist his daughter's words. He could almost hear her saying _I will tell Mom_. He sighed again.

"Okay then. I'll fly on the way to the shop. Luke, you can fly when we return."

* * *

Padme raised her eyebrows, examining the cooking droid in front of her.

"So this is the one that's on sale. It is rather…unique."

The shopkeeper smiled uneasily.

"No one wanted to buy it."

Anakin stared at the droid.

"I can see why."

Upon seeing it, Anakin felt an instant repulsion toward the cooking droid. Actually, if he hadn't known better, he wouldn't have thought it was meant for cooking. The droid was taller than him, colored black from top to the bottom. It also wore a black cape and a helmet with no visible nose and mouth. Overall, it looked menacing.

"I don't like it," concluded Anakin.

This time, Leia agreed with him.

"Me neither. It looks spooky. Doesn't fit to our house."

"Does it speak?" Padme asked hesitantly.

The shopkeeper pointed at a rectangle control panel on the droid's chest.

"Of course. If you push the button here—he pushed it—it will operate."

All of a sudden, the peculiar hissing sound filled the whole store. It was so loud and terrifying that everyone froze for a moment.

"Force! Is that a _breathing_ sound?" exclaimed Luke.

"Shush!" Padme placed her index finger on her lips.

"It's saying something."

Deep, artificial voice of the droid rang.

"I am K-4PG, a cooking droid. At your service."

The droid went mute after that, but the impact was big enough to make others mute for some seconds.

Anakin narrowed his eyes, his repulsion growing even more. He couldn't just stand this droid. It was a weird feeling.

"So…are we gonna buy this?" he asked, and nobody except Luke answered.

"Yes please?"

Anakin shot his son a disapproving look. There weren't any reasons to purchase this enormous, monstrous droid.

Luke met his eyes and sent a nudge through the Force.

"Come on, Dad. It's unique. Extraordinary. The design's cool."

Anakin shook his head. Luke had an unusual sense of defining 'coolness'.

Noticing all people's rejecting expressions, Luke crossed his arms. His face didn't show the specific emotion, but Anakin could swear he sensed a sudden excitement in the Force. It was like Luke came up with an idea—

"—Then I'll buy it myself." said Luke, surprising the shopkeeper.

"How much is it?"

The shopkeeper, obviously, was delighted. He stammered,

"I-It's originally 150 credits, but you can get it at 100 credits. Thank you, sir."

Anakin looked at Luke, his curiosity surfacing.

"What are you going to do with it?"

Luke grinned. His eyes twinkled.

"You'll see."

* * *

The next day, Anakin visited Luke's room. Or rather, Luke literally dragged him to his room.

Luke's Force signature shined with joy as he opened the door and revealed…

…the droid holding a lightsaber in its hand.

Luke placed his hand on its shoulder proudly.

"I changed it into a dueling droid. I've already programmed it to perform Djam So, form V."

Anakin put his hand on his forehead.

"Luke, you can't be serious. Obi-Wan's not gonna like this."

Luke had been Obi-Wan's apprentice for about five years now. Having Anakin's son who resembled him so much as an apprentice, Obi-Wan often complained to Anakin. "He is impatient and reckless like you, Anakin." He had said and added, "But he's better than _you_."

Nevertheless, Obi-Wan wouldn't be happy to see Luke owning his personal dueling droid at home, considering there were a number of dueling droids in the temple.

Despite Anakin, Luke continued to talk about his droid.

"…But one thing is, I cannot decide its name. It has to be a Sith, because I am a Jedi, So Darth…something. I thought about it for about an hour, but I cannot come up with a good name. Maybe you can help me with it?"

Anakin rolled his eyes.

"I'm not good at making names, Luke. You and Leia's names were given by your mom, too."

Luke seemed like he was about to say something, but stopped. He turned to Anakin, big grin on his face.

"How about…Darth Vader?"

The name gave Anakin chills. He didn't know why. He didn't want to know why.

He brushed off the feeling and replied,

"That's a nice name."

Luke grabbed his arm and opened the door using the Force. He led him to the outside.

"Come on. We have to show Mom and Leia this, too!"

Anakin smiled, following his son to the living room. He could almost picture his old master sighing, but he couldn't help himself feeling overjoyed. He might join Luke dueling with the droid, and maybe, help him upgrading it. It would be a happy father-son moment without a doubt.

Anakin found Padme and Leia in the living room and waved his hand to them. Beside him, Luke was moving the remodeled droid using the Force. Watching her brother, Leia shook her head. Padme was just smiling, looking at her children fondly. Then Anakin met her eyes, and he smiled even broader. He couldn't shake off the good feeling that today would be magnificent.

* * *

"I won't leave you."

His son's soft yet determined voice was getting more and more indistinct. He knew he was dying, so why didn't it hurt? Probably because he had lived in pain for twenty two years.

He felt like he was going into sleep. To meet the people he loved. His mother, Obi-Wan, and…Padme.

Anakin Skywalker drifted into dreams.

One last sweet dream.


	4. The Strawberry Juice

**A/N: This is the second-longest chapter I've ever written, and perhaps my favorite also. The cover image of the story is for this chapter. In the drawing, Luke looks like a teenager, but he is actually 7 years old here. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and please leave some reviews if you did:)**

* * *

**The Strawberry Juice**

* * *

Darth Vader hated many things. He was, after all, the lord of the sith.

But what possessed numerous traits he hated was rare—there was the only one: The desert planet of Tatooine.

The reasons he hated the place were:

1\. There was sand.

2\. There were Turken Raiders.

3\. There was Jabba the Hutt.

4\. Being _Tatooine_ itself.

To be honest, yes, he hated everything there, and everything that used to be there. He had avoided stepping his feet on the surface of the planet as much as he could, even saying a bold _no_ to his master who had ordered to deal with Jabba. Not surprisingly, the emperor had punished him and he _did_ go to Tatooine eventually, but let's count that as an exception; he found his son that day.

And the boy had become the only thing from Tatooine he didn't hate ever since.

_No_, Vader thought, **_hate_ **_is a far too strong word for it_.

He _liked_ the boy, or maybe, to describe it with a more precise word…

Well.

He didn't want to proceed the thought, he was the Sith Lord, a sith didn't feel _affection_ to anyone—

—and he _couldn't_ proceed the thought more, because there was a young presence running around him, singing at narrow intervals:

"Blue milk, blue milk, blue milk."

The boy's light blonde hair was messy, unlike the rest in the room, which were orderly placed in military style. The room didn't fit to a boy, Vader realized. He would have to give it a change.

"Blue milk, blue milk, blue milk."

"Luke, stop acting like a child."

Luke stopped singing, took a breath, then looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"But I _am_ a child!"

Were all chil— _kid_s like this?

"Seven years old is an appropriate age to act in a more mature way."

Luke's confuse was evident in the Force, though the boy kept saying,

"Aunt Beru said I am still a child."

"Did she give you blue milk, too?"

Luke put a grin on his face and nodded happily.

Ah, yes, now Vader had someone to blame. The reason Luke sang 'blue milk' all over the day.

It hadn't been so _serious_ at first. Luke asked him if he had some blue milk when Vader came to check him last night, and he seemed disappointed after Vader told him he didn't, but that was all.

It was only a few minutes ago he got a last message from the heroically switched-off nursing droid, that Luke had been requesting blue milk from the morning. Vader had felt a little proud then, though storming to his son's room, wondering how Luke managed to get hold of the droid. His son was evidently good at mechanics, and the talent was probably from him.

But now, his ears rang _blue milk, blue milk, blue milk_, and he wished nothing but to go back to the board of _the Executer_ and deal with officers and military plans.

This was way, way harder than slaughtering the rebels.

"There are other drinks better than blue milk," he tried.

Luke's eyes went wide once again.

"Really? Like what?"

Looking down at his son's pure blue eyes, Vader opened his mouth, to say something that could change the whole situation—

—only to remain silent.

He couldn't think of anything.

He had lived in the suit for too long to do so.

For seven years he hadn't had a chance to drink anything else but some sips of water, if any...

He pondered over it for several seconds more, but nothing came to his mind.

"...I will tell you tomorrow."

* * *

The board of the ship was busy with officers. Running the massive Star Destroyer was a complicating job without a doubt, and if Darth Vader was aboard, the officers became even busier.

Captain Firmus Piett was not an exception. As a captain of Darth Vader's private Star Destroyer, _the Executer_, he had more works to do than anybody else aboard the ship, including Vader himself. Especially when they were hunting down the rebels.

Piett glanced at the datapad in his hands. He had received information from the undercovers in the Rebellion some minutes ago, and it was something he had to inform Vader of.

Silent tension swept his body—the _whole_ atmosphere—as the dark lord walked toward the deck, his footsteps somewhat impatient.

"Lord Vader," Piett greeted with a salute.

Vader acknowledged him with a nod, and Piett's gut tightened. He respected Vader, for he was a powerful and outstanding superior, but that didn't mean he was not afraid of the sith lord. He knew when Vader was on his edges, it was always wise to be careful, or you could easily be demoted— _killed_, more importantly—for your failure.

So, it was hopefully a fortunate thing that he had brought a good news.

"The Rebel base of Crait is under siege," Piett spoke, "but considering the information sent by our agents, I'm afraid the rebels on the planet are just the minor part of the Rebellion."

The officer waited for a reply for some seconds, then asked nervously to Vader, who was staring at the space outside the window with his arms crossed.

"My lord?"

The respirator hissed.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Then, without a sense of humour: "Captain, what kind of beverage do you enjoy?"

Piett blinked, unsure of the dark lord's intention, almost contemplating whether he was joking or not—and quickly concluded he wasn't.

He did his best not to stammer despite his confusion.

"I-I don't usually consume beverages other than nutritive beverages, my lord. But sometimes I enjoy…wines."

Studying Vader's reactions, Piett got a feeling it wasn't the answer he was looking for. He clasped his hands tighter behind his back.

"My lord, if I may question, what kind of beverage do you want me to talk about?"

Clearly, Vader was not enjoying the situation judging from his abrupt answer.

"Something a child would like."

It would be a lie if Piett wasn't surprised. Even though he was aware of the fact Vader had brought a boy to _the Executer_—and he had been fairly astonished then, too, learning the fact that he was the _son_ of Darth Vader—he had never expected the Sith Lord to actually take care of the boy…act in favor of his son.

"I'd suggest something you're familiar of…Lord Vader."

_Something you had drunken before_, he added to himself.

Now, that part was controversial—secretly? He guessed the sith would be aware of the rumor—among the officers. Many suspected Darth Vader was not a man, that he was a droid or some other kind of creature with horrific powers. According to their guesses, Vader couldn't drink or eat, which seemed pretty ridiculous to Piett.

As a fellow officer of the sith lord, he was confident Darth Vader was a man indeed.

Though he was clad in black armors and used the terrifying respirator, at least his son proved he was a human, and he must have drunken some beverages before.

"Your assistance was helpful. Keep the planet under siege until the rebels surrender, and continue searching for the rebel base. You are dismissed.

"Yes, my lord."

Vader strode off, and Piett had no idea if his _assistance_ was helpful, but he did feel…light-hearted amidst the awkwardness; maybe a boy could make a big difference to the empire, and to Darth Vader… or maybe, he had already.

* * *

Vader floated.

Floated in the midair, in the Force, in the…memories.

Old, painful, yet happiest memories.

They were shining in the dark flames. They were seldom touched but were vivid every time he dared to poke them. So vivid that he felt like they were happening in the present.

As if he were Anakin Skywalker.

Vader couldn't deny he recalled those memories more often than he used to before he found his son. Luke was someone who kept reminding him of his past, and Vader felt complicated emotions toward it.

The past, it was what he desired to forget, because it did nothing but made him weak.

Which had changed a bit—maybe a lot—after he found Luke.

And now he had to search though his memories once again, to find a good drink for his son.

He scratched around the glimmering lights, trying to avoid others but only…

…the beverages…

... _The scent of fresh grass tickled his nose. The wind was mild, carrying various smells of his favorite things, from the east._

_Water, clean, transparent water, streaming down along a brook…_

_Plants and trees singing a song of mid-spring…_

_Colorful flowers bloomed at their own height…_

_And, oh, it was her, concentrating on a handful of strawberries, trimming them—_

_"Ouch!"_

_Padme laughed softly._

_"Master Jedi, you should pay more attention to your surroundings."_

_He rubbed his face. Squashed Nubian strawberries were red on his palm. It smelled sweet._

_He smiled as she raised her eyebrows mischievously. He met her eyes, and he raised his eyebrows as well, copying her expression._

_Then strawberries hovered in the air, right above her head. Just when Padme looked up, he let the berries drop._

_"That's cheating, Ani," she said, watching him who was seemingly trying to hold his laughter._

_"I did what I could," he mumbled._

_"What are you making?"_

_Padme turned her gaze to the strawberries again._

_"There's a traditional strawberry juice recipe in Naboo. I thought it would be nice for you to taste it."_

_She picked up a berry and handed it to him. As he held it close, he looked at it in awe. He had seen strawberries before, but having been raised on a desert planet, he had to admit that he was still sometimes amazed to see vegetation growing so commonly. Besides, Nubian strawberries, raw straight from the wild, had their own uniqueness. They were refreshing, deep red, shaped in heart-circle, and sour yet sweet aroma stimulated his nose._

_"I guess I'm a lucky man. Ex-queen of Naboo, now the senator of the same planet, my wife…is making me a strawberry juice." he said, chewing the berry, then accidently swallowed it as Padme lifted her chin,_

_"Who said I'm the one making?"_

_He raised his eyebrows, with his mind full of curiosity for a brief, and Padme tilted her head with a grin._

_"Of course we're making it together. Go wash your hands, Anakin."_

_It was a cheerful order, and he loved every bit of her; the loving smile on her face, the soft tone when she called his name, her confidence all around her…_

_He gave her a Jedi bow, a grin as big as hers forming on his face._

_"Yes, my lady."_

The past flashed though his mind just for a few seconds.

Even though he had found what he wanted, Vader wasn't sure he was happy with it. The memory gave him bitterness, if nothing else.

He sighed.

A strawberry juice it is.

* * *

Cooking droids on _the Executer_ were worthless. Vader didn't know who was in charge of managing the articles in the ship, but he had better have the officer replaced.

What kind of a cooking droid can't make a Nubian Strawberry Juice?

He wouldn't expect it to be able to cook some traditional food from a remote planet he never heard of. But Naboo was a well-known planet, and making a strawberry juice was nothing difficult!

Just mash the strawberries, add some sweet liquids…simple.

Which a cooking droid on a massive Star Destroyer seemingly couldn't.

Vader stared at the pile of strawberries before him. They were directly from Naboo, quickly delivered to the ship under the order of the second-in-command of the empire. He had brought them to several cooking droids, but they kept echoing, "Our programming doesn't include a Nubian strawberry juice recipe, Lord Vader." Even a _protocol_ droid he created when he was 10 years old was able to make a juice.

"Dad!" Luke exclaimed when he entered his father's chamber, then sunnily closed the door which made a blipping sound as it was locked again— _wait_, he stopped and wondered, _What happened to the security code?_

Vader didn't really want to know. It would be a shame if a seven-year-old boy could break the security code of a Sith Lord's chamber.

He decided not to talk about it, but he did mention another,

"It's _father_, young one."

It had no influence to the boy, apparently, because his son soon turned to the pile of berries rather than answering him.

"Dad, what are they?"

At first, Vader was startled that his son did not know what strawberries were. They were one of the most common fruit in the system.

Then on second thought, Luke was raised on a desert planet and lived there for his first six years. Then he moved with his father on _the Executer_ afterwards, but a military ship was not exactly the best place for diverse foods.

"They are strawberries, one kind of fruit. I was about to give you a strawberry juice, but…"

Luke looked at him with so much intense, Vader had no choice but to continue.

"…but I'm afraid I can't, as there's no cooking droids suitable for it."

Luke's disappointment sparkled in the Force. Not taught how to shield himself in the Force, his emotion was sufficiently clear.

And Vader just had to add, ignoring the follow-up report of Captain Piett upcoming in several minutes—the captain could wait for a while—

"…But I certainly could make you one, my son."

The disappointment vanished as fast as it had arisen, and the excitement took place on its behalf. The bright smile appeared on Luke's face, well, Vader would never admit, but he would gladly postpone the report forever for it…

"Is this how you'll make it?"

…or maybe not.

Luke started to pick up the berries and squeeze them with his bare hands. Strawberry liquids dropped on the floor, leaving sticky marks on it.

"Luke. Stop."

"But I gotta help you, dad!"

Padme had used stone tools to squash the strawberries. On a Star Destroyer, he didn't have to do it in an old fashioned way like she had, but it was a traditional recipe she used after all. Vader would prefer making the juice manually, especially if he was with her son.

The only problem was the absence of tools she used—and even if he had them, he wouldn't be able to use them with his big, gloved hands.

Fortunately, he knew of a method, the one he had tried in the memory as he recalled it, and it was his specialty if no less.

Vader reached his hand, and with Luke watching him in awe, the strawberries floated upwards and were crushed into pieces, the liquids popping up from them.

Luke shouted, "Awesome!"

* * *

Firmus Piett was a patient (also with, of course, some nerves) man, and he was glad of it. Otherwise he might have quitted his job serving under the command of the dark lord of the sith.

He should have been having further report regarding the siege of Crait, but instead he had been waiting in front of Darth Vader's private quarter for thirty minutes. And that didn't include the amount of the time he arrived earlier for just in case.

Sometimes he could hear voices inside, but they were mostly vague. The first he ever heard was Vader saying something, but after some seconds it was utterly quiet. Then a child's giggle followed.

Piett had no clue what was happening inside the chamber.

And his legs were getting numb.

And his arms which held the datapad firmly were beginning to get sore.

Maybe he should leave, to do more productive works; examining the current conditions of the siege, planning for their next move…there were so many works to do. They would probably be better than waiting for another thirty minutes.

The door swung open.

A young child trotted out with a grin, brushed past him, and Piett stumbled back.

Was that _Lord Vader's son_—

"Dad, you promise we'll make strawberry juice tomorrow?" the boy chattered toward the inside of the door.

"Only after I have droids clean the mess."

The officer straightened himself at the deep, artificial voice of his superior, and waited until the Sith Lord walked out, his hands ready to turn on the datapad at any moment. Shifting his hands, he realized something sticky and fluid got smeared on his fingers—where the boy brushed past him, he noticed—but he had no time to wonder what it was.

Because Captain Firmus Piett was met with Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, second-in-command of the First Galactic Empire, covered in sticky, sweet liquid from top to the bottom, following his son down the corridor.


End file.
